


A spooky little boy like you

by deathorthetoypiano



Category: The Hour
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:18:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathorthetoypiano/pseuds/deathorthetoypiano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lix has spent a rare day off home alone, but by evening she is bored and lonely, the weather is bothering her, and Randall is home particularly late...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A spooky little boy like you

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a bit of fluff after the domestic meme on tumblr last week, and I'd seen other fandoms suggesting Halloween challenges, so I thought I'd combine the two. I'm not big on scary films or books or whatever, so I'm a bit out of my depth even writing the suspense, but still, I tried. It is definitely fluff not scary, so fear not, and enjoy!

Lix has never liked those windows. They rattle in the wind, leak in the rain, freeze shut and swell open with alarming frequency. Currently, they are mostly rattling. Whistling, too, just a little, the wind catching along their edges and through their gaps. She shuts the curtains against them, switches on the record player and goes in search of a jumper. Randall should have been home hours ago, and she hates cooking without him there chatting to her, passing her things and keeping her company, helping her to focus. She considers calling him at Lime Grove, but she knows that he won't answer, even if he's there, so she curls up in the corner of the sofa with a blanket and a novel, and waits.

By the end of her chapter, rain is lashing against the glass.  Another chapter, and a small puddle has formed on the floor under the curtain.  She rolls her eyes, promises herself that she will write to the landlord about it.  She hasn’t, so far, but she will.  She will.

By half past eight, she is halfway through her book, and hungry, and still no sign of him.  It’s cold without him, cold and lonely and far too quiet, and she really wishes she was as brave an independent as everyone believes.  She finds another record, hopes Randall has the sense to take a cab home instead of walking in the rain, and makes some toast.  She’s lonely, now, and bored, and no amount of knitwear could warm her like he could, not on nights like this when she’s cold to the bone and afraid of the weather.  She lights a cigarette, smokes it as she waits for her toast, drops ash onto the edge of the butter dish.  She curses out loud, her voice in the silence of the flat so unexpected that it makes her jump.  She dabs the ash away with her fingertip, rinses it under the tap and inspects it.  Of course he’ll notice, but it would never have happened if he had just bloody well come home.

By half past nine, she’s back on the sofa, with yet another blanket, and whiskey, and well on her way to finishing the book.  The wind is angrier than ever, howling around the buildings, flinging itself against every surface with a vengeance.  Something crashes outside, and she wonders if the damage is serious.

At five past ten, the front door clicks.  “I’m in here,” she calls.  He’s home, she can relax.  After a minute or so, though, he hasn’t appeared, hasn’t come to kiss her hello or even acknowledge her.  She frowns, reluctantly gets to her feet.  “Randall?” she calls, poking her head into the kitchen, padding down the hall to their bedroom, the bathroom, but he’s not there.  The silence deafens her as she realises that he is still not home, the darkness closes in and she wonders when she started needing him so much.  She downs the rest of her whiskey, and heads out into the hall to refill the glass.

The sound of the glass breaking is drowned out by her scream.

Then he steps forward, and she realises.  “You bastard, you bloody bloody bastard!”

 He laughs like he’s been told the best joke in the world, then steps forward into the light so she can see him properly.  His face is powdered white, streaked with red, and he has fangs in his mouth, distorting his grin.  She’s still a little shaky from the shock, but she allows him to envelope her in his arms, and they stand for a moment, silent, until he admits, “I’m a bit disappointed you didn’t open the cupboard.  I was hiding in there.”

She scowls, tugs away, and stalks down the hall, shaking her head.  He catches up with her in the kitchen, watches her light a cigarette and look him up and down.  “Why?” she asks softly.  It’ll take a while for her to see the funny side, but she doesn’t want to sweep the whole thing under the carpet.

He takes the fangs out, wrinkles his nose at them, and sets them on the edge of the sink.  “Costumes were trying some things out when I passed on my way out, and it looked fun.”  He shrugs, and a lump rises in her throat as she realises she cannot remember the last time he played a joke on her, the last time he was so carefree.  If it takes some fake blood and a little fright to make him happier than she’s seem him in years, then she’ll take the hit, even though it’s at her expense.

She turns away, reaching into the cupboard for glasses and whiskey, then slinks into his arms, revelling for a moment in the feel of his hands on her waist, his breath on her neck, of having him so close when it’s all she’s wanted all day. "Let's go to bed." His joke over, Randall agrees, allowing her to brush the powder and the fake blood from his face, to clean away the dark lines around his eyes, and undressing her in return. It's only once they've got into bed, that she presses her body along his, and whispers, with more than a hint of menace, “I hope you're aware that if anyone finds out about this, it will go so very badly for you," before reaching across him to switch out the light.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from a Dusty Springfield tune called 'Spooky'. Neither that, nor The Hour, belong to me.


End file.
